


Bring a Blacksmith to a Fistfight (The Not Because I Care Remix)

by navaan



Category: 1872 (Comics), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 15:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9908108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: The deputy is taking his new wife out of town and in Timely that might mean trouble for the sheriff. It's just natural to take precautions.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magicasen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicasen/gifts).
  * Inspired by [the hole you dug yourself into](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9210896) by [magicasen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicasen/pseuds/magicasen). 
  * In response to a prompt by [magicasen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicasen/pseuds/magicasen) in the [Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness_2017) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [My Steve/Tony stories here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=7265&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=0&user_id=magicasen)  
> I've written for 616, Marvel Adventures, Avengers Assemble, Avengers Academy, and 1872. All my remixes have remix in the title, and I have no safe stories.

It was never a good sign in this town, when someone came knocking on your door in the early hour of the day. Especially not his door.

His head was pounding.

His body's revenge for a night spent drinking and it was well deserved.

"Told you so," a voice mumbled in his mind that sounded too much like the annoying Irish lilt of their sheriff.

"Stark," someone called. Female. No Irish, but foreign tones. "Open up."

Knowing the person on the other side of the door only convinced him that he better drag himself over to the door and open it, because he'd rather not deal with whatever else she would do if she was displeased. It took him three attempts to stand and then getting over was the easy part. "Mrs. Barnes," he said when he opened the door. Her husband was still in the saddle and holding her horse. By the looks of it, he was happy to leave the talking to the wife.

She looked him up and down as if she was judging him for his appearance. And she probably was. He hadn't even bothered to get out of the suit he'd worn yesterday before he'd fallen unconscious on the bed. 

“We are leaving town for a bit, just or a day,” Natasha said, cutting all the niceties and all the things she'd probably had to say about his appearance. “Look after the sheriff.”

“Me?” He looked past her at Barnes and the man just nodded, gaze dark and impenetrable. Tony had been avoiding the sheriff for the last week or so.

“You know how this town is,” she said. She did not go into any more detail, but Tony had a feeling that Barnes had not been quick about agreeing to leave town. “I know you...”

“Don't do that anymore,” Tony said quickly and indicated the gun, Barnes was carrying.

“Not with guns,” she said. “Just use whatever you have available. Not asking you to kill everyone who comes near him. Just asking you to make sure he's not in over his head without backup.” The way she looked at him, she was pretty sure she already knew his answer - and it was not going to be no.

He rolled his eyes, looked over at the sheriff's office, hated the early hour of the morning some more for giving him a headache and said: “Will do. Now leave, before I forget myself and shoot at trespassers in a drunken stuppor.”

He had time enough to see Natasha's grin, before he slammed the door.

* * *

Trying for responsible, he watches the sheriff's office for an hour or two and grows bored. He works for a while. After his last visit to town he'd come back with an ideas to a generator that was small enough to carry, but it had taken him some time to actually make it generator enough power.

He still remembered, someone telling him: “That's not possible,” in clipped tones, but the other inventor's name had been washed away by the rye. 

Finally, the thirst got the better of him and he figured he could do his watching just as well from the saloon. Chances were, if anything went down, it would be in the saloon anyway.

Before he went out, he clipped the generator to the weapon he'd been working on. It was an unimpressive metal frame that could easily be strapped to his hand and arm, but that could use the generator energy to pull a punch for him if necessary. So far, it was all still experimental.

He'd promised to make sure Rogers still was here when his deputy got back, though, and he would be damned if he carried a gun.

Rogers actually nodded when he walked by on his way to the saloon and Tony nodded back, seeing slight narrowing of his eyes when he realized where he was going.

He took his favorite stool, and didn't have to order.

* * *

All hell broke lose over a rigged poker game and Tony didn't bother watching. He had a drink in hand and a life to forget and as long as nobody bothered him, he didn't care. But Natasha's words rang in his ears as the sheriff stormed in, trying to clear up the brawl and was slammed in a table hard.

He turned and watched.

Rogers could handle himself usually, but some of these were Fisk's men, the type who would turn a fistfight into a gun fight without blinking an eyelash.

But Rogers knew how to move and knew how to throw his fists around. For now it looked like no assistance was needed. Tony was too transfixed by watching the man he was supposed to be watching to keep an eye on one of the goons still at the table. A shot rang out. 

People jumped up.

Rogers... _Steve_ was suddenly in the line of fire. 

Tony acted on instinct.

One blast put down three men at once. 

The sheriff looked at them confused and then around, found him standing there his hand raised and simply stared at him, before gathering himself up from the floor, where one of the luckier punches had sent him. “That's not a gun,” he said.

“I don't make guns and I don't carry them,” Tony said and took a deep gulp from his glass.

Rogers was suddenly beside him, still staring. Then he took the glass from him forcefully. “Thanks, Stark,” he said and slammed the glass down on the bar looking at the barkeep sternly. “No more for him.”

“Sheriff,” the man said and shrugged. They all knew he wasn't going to deny Tony any business. 

“I'll come for you in a minute,” Rogers said and looked at the glass as if it had done him some personal injury.

“I haven't done anything. You should deputize me for saving your hide,” he muttered.

“I thanked you,” Rogers said and looked like he wasn't finished, but he had three men to round up and cart away.

* * *

True to his word, Rogers came back to drag him from the Casino's saloon.

Tony did not put up a fight. It would be easier to keep an eye on Rogers from inside a cell. But that wasn't were he ended up, when Rogers decked out cards on the table in his office.

“You want a game of cards?” Tony asked, incredulously pondering the fact that he hadn't even raised a question about the weapon he'd used in the saloon. Apparently the only thing that mattered was that nobody had been killed.

“I want to keep an eye on you,” Rogers said. “Let's see how many wits you still have left now.”

Tony huffed, took up the cards. There was a reason he never played. Out west his constant “luck” could be deadly.

“You're lucky that I've got nothing to do,” he said, licking dry lips.

When Barnes returned they were still arguing about poker.


End file.
